he woman's fingers closed around the darker
ones, and Mrs. Vanderpool's eyes became dim.

"I need you, Zora," she said; and then, seeing the half-formed question,
"Yes, and you need me; we need each other. In the world lies
opportunity, and I will help you."

Zora rose abruptly, and Mrs. Vanderpool feared, with a tightening of
heart, that she had lost this strangely alluring girl.

"I will come to-morrow," said Zora.

As Mrs. Vanderpool went in to lunch, reaction and lingering doubts came
trouping back. To replace the daintiest of trained experts with the most
baffling semi-barbarian, well!

"Have you hired a maid?" asked Helen.

"I've engaged Zora," laughed Mrs. Vanderpool, lightly; "and now I'm
wondering whether I have a jewel or--a white elephant."

"Probably neither," remarked Harry Cresswell, drily; but he avoided the
lady's inquiring eyes.

Next morning Zora came easily into Mrs. Vanderpool's life. There was
little she knew of her duties, but little, too, that she could not learn
with a deftness and divination almost startling. Her quietness, her
quickness, her young strength, were like a soothing balm to the tired
woman of fashion, and within a week she had sunk back contentedly into
Zora's strong arms.

"It's a jewel," she decided.

With this verdict, the house agreed. The servants waited on "Miss Zora"
gladly; the men scarcely saw her, and the ladies ran to her for help in
all sorts. Harry Cresswell looked upon this transformation with an
amused smile, but the Colonel saw in it simply evidence of dangerous
obstinacy in a black girl who hitherto had refused to work.

Zora had been in the house but a week when a large express package was
received from John Taylor. Its unwrapping brought a cry of pleasure
from the ladies. There lay a bolt of silken-like cambric of wondrous
fineness and lustre, marked: "For the wedding-dress." The explanation
accompanied the package, that Mary Taylor had a similar piece in the
North.

Helen and Harry said nothing of the cablegram to the Paris tailor, and
Helen took no steps toward having the cambric dress made, not even when
the wedding invitations appeared.

"A Cresswell married in cotton!" Helen was almost in tears lest the
Paris gown be delayed, and sure enough a cablegram came at last saying
that there was little likelihood of the gown being ready by Easter. It
would be shipped at the earliest convenience, but it could hardly catch
the necessary boat. Helen had